


Aftermath

by LouEve_094



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Hallucinations, Harry can't cope, M/M, Physical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepwalking, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, Violence, hannah is a scheming lil bitch but in a good way, hermione acts like cupid, nearly everyone is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouEve_094/pseuds/LouEve_094
Summary: The war has ended, Voldemort's dead and everything can go back to the way it was before. But there is no before and now Harry has to deal with the aftermath of the second greatest Wizarding War, the Wizarding World has ever known. Just as well he has friends to... no, they're gone too.When class numbers get reduced drastically, when night terrors, flashbacks and panic attacks are a frequent occurrence, who will Harry turn to when times get tough?The wars ended, Voldemort's dead and everything can go back to way it was before. But there is no before and now Draco has to deal with the judgement of being on the wrong side of the battle. Just as well he has his house to lean on... no, he's the only one left.With a pulsing Dark Mark, crumbling mental stability and a reputation to uphold, who can Draco rely on to be there?Certainly not the boy who lived.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. When the dust settled

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,   
> First for a Harry Potter fic, sorta been wanting to write it for a while. I update as I write so anything you want to see in the story please drop a comment or email me (my email's on my page), and I will see if I can fit it in!!
> 
> I'm also writing this under the assumption that y'all have read the – because I'm not going to be glossing over anything in this story. Just putting out a warning, in case you haven't read the tags – there is graphic description of blood and gore and death. 
> 
> Anyway, I won't keep you guys from reading (cause that's what we're all here to do), so enjoy!

The wind howled forgotten in the mountains. Trees swayed violently, illuminated for split seconds by red flashes of light, sometimes green, sometimes white. The moon lay still and silent in her home in the clouds, much like the bodies that lay still among the rubble.

Cries of pain, of vengeance, of desperation, covered the cries of those who had lost all that they loved. When wands were lost they were replaced by daggers enchanted to harm, to maim and to kill. The frontiers of the two sides had broken, masks slipped as their faces stilled behind them, robes tore as youngsters fell upon the broken brick.

"He's dead! The Dark Lord has fallen. RETREAT!" One cry pierced the rest, Lucius Malfoy raised his voice in desperation. The Death Eaters, so vigilant and loyal fell to chaos, dark-robed figures scrambling for a means of escape. The sound of fireworks filled the air as any capable Death Eater apparated. Many didn't and put up a battle to win their losing fight.

The battles which had been evenly matched for too long tipped in the students' favour, and they celebrated, victorious. Harry had won. In the middle of the Great Hall, he stood, adrenaline washing from him. Finally, he had defeated Voldemort, finally the war he'd been a part of since his birth was over. Holding Draco's wand in his hand and the Elder wand in the other, watching Voldemort crumple to the ground, he expected to feel somewhat happy, satisfied even, but as his eyes fell on the crowd beyond Harry just felt numb. Was this it? He had closure now, but why did he feel so empty?

Even as people erupted into cheers, hugging each other and hobbling forwards to clap bloody hands on his shoulders, Harry just wanted to disappear. And when all eyes and hands went towards tending the injured, that's exactly what he did. He couldn't bear to look at anyone in the eyes. Sure they may have won, but they had lost so much. He couldn't bear look at Fred, his body still and cold, nor Lupin, nor Tonks. He didn't want to meet the eyes of George, of Percy, of any of the Weasleys. It was too much for him. He'd won, but he had lost at the same time.

Taking the invisibility cloak, he swung it around his shoulders, pulled if over is head and weaved his way from the great hall to the courtyard to beyond the grand staircases, and up the forgotten hidden stairs. Once climbed he began to wander aimlessly through the halls, trying to get away - anything to stop the thoughts from racing through his head. The pulsing memories behind his eyes stung, and the tears began to fall from his eyes, dropping onto the floor as he walked. He left a trail of teardrops in the dust from the battle. When the dust settled, no one was left untouched, surrounded by pain, by death. He shook his head to dislodge this thought, glimpsing through a smashed window the Hogwarts grounds littered with rubble and fires. Harry continued to wander.

• • •

The boys grip loosened on his wand, his breath hitched as his lungs filled slowly with blood. The old sandstone block did not budge no matter how loud he uttered those words, the rubble pinning him down like a bug under a magnifying glass. The words gurgled in his throat and the spell failed to supply a result. Blood trickled down his chin.

"Re..reduc... ducto..o." His breath shook, and his wand finally slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor. The boy hissed, as the giant piece of rubble pushed painfully into his side, and tears leaked from his eyes. A dark nothingness swam to meet him and his hands fell limp by his sides.

The fighting had stopped, he noticed, quite a while later when he pushed open the lead eyelids of his. It was quiet. Peaceful even. He drew a shaky rattling breath, then spluttered, then coughed, then winced as the rubble shifted above him. He tasted blood on his tongue. Glancing around the hall, he saw no one, all was quiet. There were no pit-pattering of steps, nor the murmur of voices, nor the shouts, screams of curses and hexes and spells. The battle was over, or so it seemed, had they all left without him? Surely not his mother, his father maybe yes, but no – more tears dripped down his face, steadily gaining momentum, as the gravity of the situation pushed down upon him. His pale hair stuck to his paler forehead, sweating as each breath became more of a concerted effort to stay alive, each breath shorter and shorter. Like an old man, he wheezed, struggling to find the air to breathe. His vision swam, and black dots appeared whenever he blinked. His body began to shiver. Blood pooled in all the wrong places. 

But then, through the pain, he heard something. A pit-pat, the softest sound of feet in a silent hallway. His eyes slid over the hallway desperately, and whether by delusion or sanity, he didn't know, someone was suddenly standing in front of him. A head and then a body and then a shaky hand holding a blurry wand. He blinked once to clear his vision, but his eyes no longer obeyed him and the scene before him blurred further. Standing in front of him was a blurry black-haired blob of a boy.

"Merlin...Malfoy! Reducto!" The blobs voice garbled from under the sea. Since when was he underwater? Darkness called to him, and his lead eyelids sank back down to the hollow caves in his face, sliding over tired eyes. For the last time, his breath hitched, and gurgled in his throat, lungs full, drowning in his own blood.

Harry screamed for help.

• • •

Time stretched for hours as he sat there racking his brain for any useful spell. With each spasm, Harry heard the blood gurgling in his throat, saw the red spill over onto lips then chin, then dribble down his dusty front. Harry pressed his hands into the largest gash in his sides, desperately trying to stop the blood. None of the spells he knew could heal this much damage. 

"Somebody HeLP ME!" He screamed again, voice cracking dangerously at the end. Looking down at the pale boy, "Don't die Malfoy. C'mon, c'mon. Wake up you git! Nononononononono. SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Was CPR an option? Did it even work on wizards? Was there blood in his airways, should he clear it? How could he clear it? Ambulances don't go to Hogwarts, "No. _Crap_." 

"SOMEBODY –" He broke off mid-scream, interrupted. 

"Harry, Harry. It's ok. We're here. We here to help." Kingsley Shacklebolt approached him with a red-face very upset Mrs Weasley.

"He's not breathing, and I didn't want to move him. I think his throat is blocked, he had this massive piece of rubble on him and I've tried to stop the bleeding but I don't know enough spells and oh merlin, there's so much blood and I don't know what to do, I don't want him to die, I don't want –" 

Mrs Weasley pulled him in close and wrapped her arms around him, her voice also cracking, but her hold firm, "I've got you. Kingsley is good at healing, and Draco will be ok. Everything will be ok, Harry." 

Harry nodded into her shoulder, knowing that if he was to open his mouth again, everything would come rushing out. He pulled back and nodded at her appreciatively. She smiled tight-lipped, and joined Kingsley at Draco's side, waving her wand in practised motions. 

Taking himself to a nearby window, Harry watched the two levitate him off the floor, correct his crooked limbs and stop the blood from flowing. But even knowing that he would be safe in those hands, Harry could not tear his eyes from the boy, his pale skin almost ghost-like, the blood-stained clothes making him look a fresh corpse. Which –

"Will he be okay?" Harry directed his question at Kingsley, quickly stopping those toxic thoughts. 

Kingsley did not look up from what he was doing, but Harry heard the sympathy in his voice, "He will recover, in time. As will you." 

Harry kept to himself as they transported Draco down the many staircases and into the Great Hall. Mrs Weasley immediately rushed off to find the rest of her family, which were huddled around not one but two bodies. He left Draco with Kingsley and stepped towards their – his – family.

It took two steps for him to realize who the bodies were. He took no more steps. 

George was covered in blood, sobbing into the crook of Fred's stiff, cold neck. Half his intestines were hanging out of his body, and his legs were mangled to the point where Harry wasn't sure whether they were legs or mangled bone. Harry's stomach heaved, and he felt his lunch travel up his throat. Fred still had his boyish half-smile plastered on his face, George would never smile again. Shock washed over him. 

If Fred's death had shocked Harry, he wasn't prepared for the person lying equally still beside him. As soon as he saw Ron's freckled face, a sob tore from him. His heart fell. His hand flew to his mouth to stifle the next strangled sob. His best friend. No. Oh, Merlin. No. This couldn't happen. He shouldn't have died, he was the brightest part of Harry's life. He saved Harry so many times, how –. His eyes shifted to Hermione. She sobbed beside Ron's body, her lap pooling with blood. As his eyes adjusted, he saw something even worse, her left arm from the shoulder down was... missing. He broke down crying, and in the middle of the Hall, surrounded by people mourning their families and friends nobody thought anything of it. 

Through tears, he gazed around the hall. He wished the Earth would open and swallow him whole. This was all his fault. Not just Voldemort's, but Harry's fault, his fault. So much death surrounded him, it always had. So many people had died, for his life or by his hand. How could he live up to their expectations? He was the boy who lived because people died. Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes desperately. How could he live so they could be glad they let him live? 

The dust settled around him. The dust settled and from the pits of his heart and soul, Harry knew, somehow, that this wasn't the end. The end had not ended, in fact, the start was just starting. The aftermath of the war. 


	2. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and a talk ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,   
> I'm back!   
> I have 5 chapters pre-written, so I'll upload them all today, but from then on I promise – I update as I write, so your input is appreciated. 
> 
> This coming chapter has a lil more angst, a lil more spice so I hope y'all like it ~

Draco was the only Slytherin seventh year returning to Hogwarts that year. The red hide of the Hogwarts express gleamed too brightly, and blinking away the panic that built in his chest, he embraced his mother for the last time that summer.

Narcissa hugged her son and pulling back said, "Don't get into too much trouble. You're here for your N.E.W.Ts, nothing and no one else, remember that. I love you Draco."

He met her eyes briefly and looked away, "I love you too, Mother."

The whistle sounded and steam began pouring from the engine of the train. Smiling a tight-lipped smile, he took his luggage and boarded the train, minding the gap as he did so.

It was surreal being back on the train. In a moment when he looked down the hallway between compartments, he felt the last six years wash over him. The pointless bickering with Potter, the snide comments and laughing with Crabbe and Goyle, the food which always brought a smile to his face, the feeling of freedom whenever he boarded the train, finally out of the mansion. Beneath his civilian clothes, his Dark Mark throbbed and with a crashing halt he remembered all the events of the past year, washing over him like a cold bath. He shivered slightly. Feeling somewhat disconcerted he started searching for the right compartment. Walking past all of the full ones, he slid inside the first empty compartment, glaring at anyone younger who tried to enter. He sat and waited for his friends to show up, hoping that one of them would.

The Hogwarts express left the station and Draco put his legs up in his empty compartment, ignoring the empty feeling in his chest.

• • •

Harry sat inside his compartment, trying not to talk about the elephant in the room. He'd spent all summer at the Weasleys, trying to avoid them, spending time in his room, in George's room and nowhere else. He hadn't spoken for weeks after and only recently had he actually joined them at meals. Now, sitting in the same train compartment, where they had first met, nearly overwhelmed him. A stinging pressure built behind his eyes. He pushed his hands over them to hide the tears building.

Across from him, Hermione did the same, sniffling a little bit. When he heard her, his heart dropped even more and he felt shameful for being so selfish.

"Come 'ere Hermione," he said, half gruff, half kind. She moved seats and nestled into his shoulder. They stared at his empty seat. He put his arm around her and listened to her quietly crying. He made no effort to comfort her, but riding out the tears beside her was enough.

"Merlin Harry," she said, wiping her eyes, "I..."

"I know."

"He wouldn't want us to look like this, unable to even talk about him." She hiccuped, "It was bad enough at the Weasleys, where everyone was mourning. I just, I wish so badly every time I go to talk to him, to turn to him I wish he were here. It's so... it's so _empty_ without him."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice. He leant on Hermione, trying to get Ron off his mind.

"You know what he would do right now?" Hermione hiccuped, more to herself then Harry, "He'd say something thick-headed or surprisingly insightful trying to make us feel better. He was always like that. Trying to make the world a better place. Why did we have to go fuck it up, Harry? Why did Voldemort have to fucking screw over us and ruin our lives."

Hermione rubbed the stub of her left arm. The train rattled along the tracks and Harry glanced out of the window.

"Hermione, how do you know what to -"

"Shhh Harry, just wait, I'm sorry. I think someone's coming, it may be -" Hermione gave him a pointed look, sat up quickly and adjusted her shirt over what was left of her arm. Brushing the hair out his face, Harry eyed the door quietly.

The door slid open to reveal two boys, both slightly dishevelled, both with tired eyes and slightly leaner bodies. As soon as their eyes hit Harry and Hermione they slid over to where Ron would sit and then quickly back. Harry relaxed back into his seat, not sure why he was tense in the first place. Did he expect it to be? No, he squashed the blossoming thoughts.

"Hiya Harry." The Irish boy nodded at him, "We've been looking for some seventh years to hang with, mind if we sit?"

Harry shook his head, "Nah, s'alright. Just not..." He trailed off and looked pointedly at _that_ part of the seat. The two boys nodded and sat on either side of the seat, avoiding the elephant. 

It was quiet for a while, the only sound the clicking and clacking of the train as it rolled over the English countryside. Harry lay his head back and stared out the window, not really feeling up to talking to anyone about anything. Hermione fiddled with her shirt whilst reading beside him and across Neville and Seamus leant on each other - a bit too comfortable. Harry guessed the war had broken down some barriers in their friendship.

"How many people do you think will come back?" Neville finally broke the silence.

Harry glanced at him, then back out the window, but kept an ear out for Hermione's expected answer. 

"Well." She said while Harry studied some particularly interesting trees rolling by, "None of the Slytherins of course, they would want to save face instead and stay out of the limelight, a handful of Ravenclaws, fewer Hufflepuffs and I'd say all of the Gryffindors who weren't left hospitalised or well... d-d... you know, _that_."

"No Slytherins?" Seamus prompted Hermione steering her away from the elephant in the room, which had suddenly grown much larger.

"Why would they humiliate themselves anymore?"

• • •

Draco slept the majority of the train ride. So much so that he missed the food trolley and the lamps were lit by the time he woke up. The only things he noticed was the clickity-clacks, the gentle swaying of the train and the dull ache in his side whenever he took a breath.

Lifting his shirt he looked at the bandages still wrapped around his abdomen. But it wasn't those scars and scabs that hurt, it was the deep internal ache that came from not being able to breathe properly.

It was this thought, of not being able to breathe, that did it. His breath shortened and his chest tightened and the ache continued to ache, pain spreading up and across his chest. His heart beat faster as he began to panic. The pain increased, and his breath shortened.

"Crap." He placed his hand on his chest, feeling his heart, willing it slow, willing his lungs to work, "C'mon, it's ok. Deep breath, deep breath. One, two, three, four in. One, two, three, four out. C'mon, goddamnit. One, two, three -"

He continued to breathe, focusing on each slow deep breath, remembering that he could breathe and he could do it right. A few minutes passed and the crisis was averted. Draco relaxed back into his seat, keeping his hand on his chest, but no longer having to consciously breathe.

He tried to think of something else. Beneath him, the clicking and clacking of the train began to slow, and the screech of the metal wheels on the metal tracks startled him into action. From his bags, he found his robes, and opening the compartment door, went to find a bathroom to get changed. 

Once changed, once the train had pulled into the station, Draco gathered his belongings and prepared to leave the train. For a brief second, he remembered he didn't visit that Potter boy, and he laughed drily. How could he visit Potter? Surely he didn't come back to Hogwarts this year. As if anything had stayed the same. The goddamn war had ruined everything in his life. Even Hogwarts, Draco concluded as the thestral-carried carriages rolled up to the castle doors.

Even though the teachers had tried to cover up the rubble, had tried to resurrect the crumbling courtyard and broken towers – the work was hurried and patchy. He was sure that if he were to go to some of the classrooms on the lower floors they would still be half destroyed. There was only so much the Hogwarts staff could cover for. Stiffly he watched the younger years trail through the doors and waited for the other seventh years to appear, hoping to Merlin that he'd just missed them on the train. 

But even as familiar faces started popping up in the crowd, Draco knew with a sinking feeling, that he was the only Slytherin. He entered the doors of Hogwarts alone. 

• • •

Harry and Hermione entered the Grand Hall quietly with Seamus and Neville. The Hall was a lot quieter, a lot more subdued than Harry remembered. The younger years were chatty, glancing around at the obvious decay and whispering to themselves, but the older years sat quietly, too many empty seats around them. 

Harry stumbled as he walked, stomach-lurching as he remembered the events of the battle. He'd fought Voldemort here, how could everything be so different? He slid clumsily into his seat. Hermione sat opposite and Ginny joined them, her eyes muted and skin pale. No one had had a particularly good summer. 

"Soo... how were everyone's holidays?" Neville broke the silence, yet again. 

Not wanting to cause a scene, or do anything particularly strenuous at all, Harry shrugged, "Real crappy, Neville. But thanks for the thought." 

The group fell to silence again, trying their best not to break the thin ice they walked upon. Slightly curious to see how many other people had returned, and not wanting to engage in any other awkward conversations, Harry turned to look at the Slytherin table. 

It was by far the most empty. Of the now sixth years, he saw only five people and as his eyes travelled up to the end of the table he was shocked to see the empty seats. It was as Hermione said, no one had come back to redo their final year. Yet in the furthermost seat, he saw someone. 

"Hermione, I think you were wrong." He turned around to face her. 

She frowned, "About what? I'm hardly wrong about anything." 

"Take a good look at the Slytherin table." 

Everyone turned to look, Seamus, Neville, Ginny and Hermione turned to glare down at the Slytherin table. 

"Way to make it obvious, guys." He muttered into his curry. 

They turned back, fully intending to discuss with Harry, but the Headmistress stood and the hall fell silent. Glancing out across the hall Harry met eyes with Draco. He shifted to face the Headmistress. 

• • •

Draco hung around after dinner, waiting. After six years of animosity, it felt odd to be waiting for the boy he hated. Except, he wasn't even sure about that anymore. He tried not to fiddle with his robes, as he watched the crowds pass. First the first years passed through the doors, nearly knocking him back, the crowd double the size it was last year. He guess the decision to repeat everyone's year had some drawbacks. Then the other years left in dribs and drabs, all of them looking tired but content, with full stomachs to boot. Draco dropped his gaze as he began to see faces he recognised, then lifted it as he remembered his families reputation. 

Everyone glared at him as they passed. Zacharias Smith turned his nose in the air as if he was the proud ambitious Slytherin instead of loyal, but rather lofty, Hufflepuff and Susan Bones flinched when she passed him, hiding her – what he glimpsed to be, scarred arm in the folds of her robes. Padma and Romilda seemed especially invested in their conversation when they passed him and Michael Corner had the audacity to scornfully mention the Malfoy name in that same conversation. Draco clenched and unclenched his hands, angry, angry at all of them. His chest began to ache. 

At last, he began to see the Gryffindors leave the Great Hall, and from where he was standing by the doors he had a great vantage point. He stepped forward out of the shadows and into the light, ready to approach his maybe nemesis. Seamus and Neville came first, with Hermione trailing, absentmindedly fingering her robes, tugging them over her – he cringed – armless shoulder. Then finally came Harry, glancing around nervously. 

Draco cleared his throat. Harry stopped and glared at him, "What do you want, Malfoy."

Draco sighed internally. He didn't want to put up with any more of this crap. He was already taking judgement from everyone else, he didn't need child-like banter with the boy-who-lived, "I want my wand Potter. I assume that's why you were staring at me for the entirety of dinner?"

"Shut it Malfoy, have your god-awful wand back and leave me alone. I don't need Death Eaters like you giving me any more shit to deal with." Harry spat and reaching into his robes produced Draco's wand and chucked it to him. 

Draco caught it and watched in shock as Harry stalked away. Around him, students snickered. Face hot, he needed to redeem himself, "Shut up all of you, the next person who giggles I'll hex." 

They scattered. Draco fled to his dorms, annoyed, but mostly trying to ignore the empty pit that quaked in his stomach. He fell asleep in a silent dorm.

• • •

Harry lay in bed. Without Ron's echoing snores, the dormitory felt too quiet, too large. Everything lay silent and everything lay still. Even the incessant arguing of Seamus and Dean over quidditch and muggle football had vanished, vanished when Dean was put into a magical coma – the key to consciousness which died with the Death Eater. Harry rolled over and stared out of the gap in his bed hangings, out of the window and onto the ground below. 

Why had he snapped at Draco before? He didn't hate him exactly. Though he had hated him all the way up to the end of the sixth year and then after that, things got muddled. He hated that Draco actually fought with the Death Eaters, but why did he save him then? Harry was angry at Draco, but mostly at himself. Why did he have to act so vicious towards him? He didn't even intend the words to sound mean. Surely, he would have gone through some crap at home as well. Everyone lost something, right? Harry sighed into the empty night and rolled over again, this time facing the heavy bed hangings. Why couldn't he just start fresh? It wasn't like he had a purpose in life anymore anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe,   
> Now we have the aftermath of an actual war – damn JK depriving us of some hella good angst (that being said, we'll take up the mantle, and do a better job of it lolol). 
> 
> Leave a comment on your musings,  
> Lots of love,   
> Lou


	3. Unity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace offering in a time of peace – ironic, no?  
> (also Harry finally pulls his finger out and does some homework)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione still has a brain, but I have none. I have an exam on Wednesday and instead I'm on this cursed site reading. What have you guys done to me? I have a love/hate relationship with this site right now.

Weeks passed. Day after day, night after night. Harry came down to breakfast each morning a little more dishevelled, a little more sleep-deprived, a little more irritated. He kept having dreams, not of Voldemort thank merlin, but of the bodies, of his friends, of his enemies, of Draco lying there dying in his blood, his body spasming and seizing up. The worst part was of this knowledge that it wasn't just a dream, it was a reality, a flashback to worse times. 

Harry woke up sweating, throat dry but face wet. With a shaking hand, he pulled back his hangings and was surprised to see Seamus and Neville standing there nervously. 

"Harry, are you okay? You were screaming and shouting." Neville said, holding his wand tip as a source of light, "You're not still... you're not still getting those dreams are you?" 

Harry put his hand to his mouth and bit down hard, trying to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. Completely ignoring Neville he groped around his bedside table, "Wand, where's my wand."

It was pressed hurriedly into his hands by Seamus. Harry waved it in front of him and mumbled, "Prior Incantato." 

The wand replayed the last spell used, a harmless charm. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn't the Avada Kedavra he'd cast onto a Death Eater in his dream. Still clutching his wand, he fell back into his covers and closed his eyes. 

"Harry?" Neville prompted. Harry remembered that they were still there. 

"S'fine Neville, I'm fine. Go back to sleep. It was just a dream." Harry said through gritted teeth. His hands tremored and he felt beads of sweat roll down his sides. Whatever he was it was not fine, but attention wasn't something he needed right now. 

"Harry," Neville repeated sternly, "I did not put up with a year of torture from the Carrows to be dumb to actually believe you when you say you're fine. You're shaking and sweating and you've been bloody screaming for the past half hour. I don't believe you, one bit." 

Neville glowered at Harry. Harry glared right back. His eyes flicked to Seamus, who shrugged. Harry groaned, just wanting to be left alone, "I had a dream. Okay? It wasn't Voldemort–" both boys flinched "–so you don't need to worry. Nothing special, just good old death and murder and war." 

His voice had got oddly high pitched and he tried to blink away the burning sensation that was growing behind his eyes. Feeling almost ashamed of how pathetic he seemed, he threw his covers off him and grabbed his robes, "I'm going. Enjoy your little pity party." 

Harry stalked out of the dorm and down into the common room. Everything was still dark. Lighting a few candles, he saw his potions books still open on the table. At least now he had the chance to finish his homework.

By the time Harry finished all of his homework, the edges of the curtains had gone light, and the candles were no longer needed to see. Stretching he caught a glimpse of someone coming down the stairs. Hermione staggered down the stairs, holding all her books but unable to balance them. 

"Harry!" She exclaimed and dropped all of them. He blinked and focused on her. 

"Yeah?" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. 

"I didn't expect to see you down here this early. My word, are you alright? You look like you've just seen the reaper." She knelt and began to gather her books, glancing up at him every few seconds. 

"I.. I don't want to talk about it." He said, unable to think up of an excuse. 

"Harry, have you been crying?" 

He didn't meet her eyes. Suddenly angry, Harry stood. He gathered his books, "Hermione, I just said I didn't want to talk about it. Can you not pry into other people's lives for one goddamn second?" 

She shrunk back into herself, somewhat affronted. Harry felt even more frustrated at himself. Seeing the look on her face – why couldn't he do anything right? 

"I'm going to class." He walked out of the common room and stepped through the portrait hole. 

"What about breakfast, Harry?" Hermione called after him. She stood alone in the common room, more saddened than angry at his actions. Something had to be done about this moping and irritability. She couldn't let him waste away. She ran her hand through her thick bushy hair, and bit her lip. She knew she couldn't get him out of a funk like this, so who could?

• • • 

Draco was always the first to Potions. He was always the first to every class, that is he had no friends or even enemies to keep him otherwise occupied. So as he stepped around the corner to the Potions classroom, he expected there to be no one, he expected the hallway to be empty. Instead, he saw a mop of black hair and a behind of tousled robes. Draco groaned internally. He didn't want to have to deal with this stupid bickering again. He just wanted somewhere to sit and eat his breakfast in peace, and then stand and wait for class. 

Why was he this early anyway? Didn't he have a gang of friends always surrounding him at all times? Surely the boy-who-lived was the most popular person in the year, had friends. Had friends that were at least, still alive and kicking. He started to tap-tap-tap his shoes down the hallway. Harry turned to look at him, almost as if he was expecting someone else. Seeing Draco he frowned. Draco glared right back. 

"Potter." 

"What are you doing here, Malfoy." Harry snapped. 

Draco twisted his face into a look of disgust, "No need to shout Potter, I am the only other person here. And I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?" 

"I'm waiting for class to start, moron." 

He lifted an eyebrow, "Oh really? At seven o'clock in the morning. Wow, aren't you dedicated."

"Speak for yourself Malfoy, you're here too."

Draco lifted his other eyebrow and sat down producing a plate from under his arm, "To have breakfast, idiot." 

"Oh, so not in the Great Hall where literally everyone else is having breakfast." Harry sneered, standing over him. Draco looked up at him unfazed by the power imbalance, but slightly uncomfortable at the jab. He hated going into the Great Hall. He had no one to talk to and the noise was overwhelming, and the smell was horrid, it reminded him of last year and the place itself just triggered his panic attacks. 

"No." He said scornfully, "I'm not an idiot, I can tell I'm getting I'm judged."

"Of course you're getting judged you git." Harry spat right back, "You fought with the Death Eaters and you have a fucking Dark Mark on your arm." 

Draco glared at him, not wanting to be reminded of the throbbing Dark Mark on his forearm, "Then why did you fucking save me huh?" 

Harry stopped, anger diminishing, startled, "You saw me. I thought... you were..." 

"It was the last thing I saw." Draco subconsciously ran a hand over his scarred stomach, "Before well, everything went all... before everything went to shit." 

Harry relaxed into the wall and huffed, "I thought it went to shit in about fifth-year personally. Or fourth-year." 

Draco snorted, "It went to shit the moment I was born, honestly."

Harry sank to the floor beside him sighing, "That's a mood." 

Harry's stomach growled. Draco heard and lifting a cold piece of toast from his plate offered it to him, "Peace offering Potter?" 

"Thanks, Malfoy." He took the piece and took a bite, "Merlin, never thought I'd say that to my enemy." 

"Do we really have to be enemies?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Draco bit his lip, wishing he could take them back. They rested in the air for a few moments before Harry spoke, "Aren't we though? You're on Voldemorts side and I'm on, well, my side. Isn't it just the way it works?" 

"I didn't ask to be born in my family you know Potter. I didn't ask for my father to be on Voldemort's side, I didn't ask for him to be thrown in jail and then my family's name be ridiculed by everyone. It's the family I was born into and don't get me wrong I love my family, it's just I never really got the choice to choose who I sided with in the first place."

"Don't feel too bad Malfoy, I was part of a fucking prophecy from day one. I couldn't choose jack in my life, let alone live a peaceful one. Remember how I nearly got killed in our first-year by a pimply looking git who was scared of his own shadow? I think that's when life truly went to shit." 

Draco began to chuckle and after a few moments, Harry started to laugh. Both their voices were rusty and their faces strained with the effort. For the first time in a long while the tears they cried were not the product of sadness, fear or pain. They wiped happy tears from their cheeks. The sound of their laughter echoed through the near-empty hall. From where Hermione was standing at the end, books in a satchel swung over one shoulder, she could see everything. She saw the banter and the laughter, and the sharing of the toast. Hermione knew what she had to do. 

• • •

The common room was nearly empty when Hermione decided to approach Harry about it. Her idea. He was sitting on the floor, quill hovering over the one section of parchment trying to find the right words. He had decided to make a concerted effort on his studies this year, which was proving harder than he initially thought. 

"Hermione, for the Transfiguration work McGonagall set, how long did she say it had to be?" He looked at her expectantly. 

"14 inches, but I've done 16 inches, and you should too if you want extra credit and house points." 

"Thanks, 'Mione." He fell silent measuring his scroll. He had four inches left to write which equalled to around seven lines. His quill scratched on the parchment as he tried to finish. Hermione had already finished her homework and she had begun to write up a study plan for the N.E.W.Ts, which Harry honestly didn't want to think about. They were over two terms away, and he already had so much on his plate. He sighed, staring at those empty inches of parchment.

"Harry. I'm thinking of hosting an inter-house get-together this Friday evening, do you know anywhere I could host it?" She blurted. 

Harry stopped writing. It took a minute for him to process what she had just said. He stoppered his ink bottle and rested his quill on top. He peered up at her from behind his glasses, intrigued, "Why do you wanna do that? Don't you think it's best to study?" 

"Well, we need to have a break every now and then, and after the war, everyone's in a bit of a funk. We could all loosen up a little, have some butterbeer and firewhiskey, play some innocent games and talk. If V...Vol...Voldemort was trying to split us apart he's done a good job of it." 

Harry didn't meet her eyes, staring into the fire. 

"What do you think? Is it a good idea?"

He turned back to her, "For one thing you could do it in the Room of Requirement. That way you don't have to provide any of the furnishings. And we could always the tunnel under the Whomping Willow to import firewhiskey if Seamus's stash runs low. Which I doubt but–" 

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione smiled at him softly.

He smiled back a small, slightly sad smile, "Who would you invite?" 

She bit her lip. This was a touchy subject in their year. Less like an elephant in the room and more like an elephant in Hogwarts, no one wanted to mention the empty beds and small classes, "I think..."

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, "I think I would invite everyone from our year. The few of us who are left, anyway."

Hermione looked down at her hand and shifted in her seat, her face growing red. Harry looked away politely, knowing how deeply she felt their losses. He turned back to his parchment and measured it again, "Would you invite _everyone,_ Hermione?" 

"I'd invite all us Gryffindors obviously, Lavender and Romilda would want to come, Padma definitely, she's the only girl left in Ravenclaw, you know and Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff. As for the boys, I'd invite Justin and Zacharias from Hufflepuff and Anthony and Michael from Ravenclaw. And yes Harry, to answer your pointed question, I would invite Draco."

"Wow really?" He responded, muttering through his quill, eyes scanning his scroll, "I can't believe I wrote left when the hand motion is obviously to the right. No wonder I couldn't transfigure that frog this morning, I was waving the counterspell." 

"Yes, wow really, Harry. God, I thought you'd be more up for this House unity thing." She smacked him over the back of the head with her neatly rolled parchment, "You're not even listening to me."

He shielded against the next attack and amended his paper, "At least I'm doing my homework this year. I was listening and I am up for it, but I don't know how many other people will be. It may be too soon." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> Harry doesn't give a fuck. Thats it, thats my comment. (He does, he's just hurting and hiding it) 
> 
> Leave a comment on your musings,   
> Lots of love,  
> Lou


	4. Call it a kiss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question is, what sort of drunk are they? (flirty apparently)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hot, so bring a fan, or become a fan. (Lol I'm so sorry, I'll take my leave) 
> 
> Enjoy the chap!

It was a cold afternoon, but even so, many of the seventh year kids tried to take advantage of the little sun before the homework piles obscured it. Regardless of the blustery wind, people strolled and sat on the grounds, sometimes laughing but mostly staring out into the sky, lost in thought. Draco avoided them. Sitting in the library he tried to absorb himself in his work. He tried to think about something other than the thoughts spinning around in his head. An endless whirl of worry and panic. What if he was taking a bath in the Prefect bathroom and had an attack? What if he slipped under and couldn't breathe? What if he went into the Great Hall and freaked? What would people think? Do people think he's a killer, a murderer? What if? Would they?

"When using fluxweed in healing potions to cover for mishaps in animalistic transfigurations, one must capture the ever-changing essence in a bowl of a pure metallic form – preferably iron, cast with a spell of durability. Yes, that sounds ok. Being acidic – No that's not right. Fluxweed is alkaline isn't it." Draco mumbled to himself, focusing on the sounds of his words rather than his spiralling thoughts.

Somewhere in the background, he heard the library doors open and close. Glancing up he saw that it was that Granger girl. He buried himself back in his work, hoping she wouldn't come near his pile of school books. They were the only two seventh years to be using the library this early in the year.

"Malfoy." She snapped. His head snapped up and he glared, "Go away Granger, I'm working."

Hermione stood right in front of him, standing over him. Her satchel bumped against her hip and his eyes gravitated to the place where her arm used to be. She hissed and his eyes flicked quickly to her face, "What do you want filth-"

"I am hosting a party in the room of requirement."

He raised both eyebrows.

"The whole year's gonna be there, come any time after nine, the teachers don't give a damn if we end up sleeping there. You can come or you can stay throwing a pity party in here your dorm, I don't care. This is just courtesy you're seeing here."

Hermione turned her back and went off to find some books. Draco sat there and tried to reabsorb himself in his work. A party, what the hell made her do that? Who would even go? Unable to think about fluxweed or daemon livers for his potions homework, he packed up his books and retreated to his dorm. Even if he was alone, at least he wasn't getting bugged by the likes of Granger.

What sort of shit idea was an inter-house party anyway?

• • •

Harry stood in the room alone with Hermione. She paced lengths, muttering to herself. With each passing minute, she got more and more frantic. It was ten minutes after nine and not a soul had shown up. She repositioned the couches, the rugs, even changed the hall hangings to a more neutral colour. That was okay, but after she adjusted the rug in front of the fire for the fifth time, Harry had to intervene, if not for her sake then the sake of his sanity.

"Hermione, it'll be fine. Seamus is getting his booze, people will come. Everyone wants to well, get drunk and forget everything."

She rolled her eyes, but before she could continue pacing, the door was flung open and a partially drunk Seamus stumbled in, holding a shitload of bottles. Neville staggered in behind him holding a crate of firewhiskey. Hermione's scowl split into a grin – though Harry noted, it didn't quite reach her eyes.

After that, it was a steady flow of seventh-years, all dressed in casual clothes, all looking ready to do something scandalous and forget the war. He greeted Lavender and Padma, Zacharias and Terry – everyone seemed at ease with each other. Around him, people started talking, Hufflepuff to Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, everything was going smoothly.

The door opened again and Draco walked in. Instantly the talking stopped and everyone turned to stare. He glowered at them all and walked over to where Hermione was sitting on the rug, protecting the booze. Harry half-followed, no more people to meet and greet, but also curious to see this exchange.

There was no exchange. Draco sat, leaning against the wall – where he took a swig of the firewhiskey that he had brought with him. Harry sat next to Hermione to make it look it like he was not following Draco.

Gradually people began to join them and it wasn't long before all the seventh years were sitting in a small circle. People reached for the booze, but Hermione smacked their hands away, "That's for later."

Then raising her voice she addressed them all, "Who wants a game of Truth and Dare?"

Everyone nodded, a few people, including Seamus, cheered. Harry nodded. This would be a good distraction. Surely it would stay light and fluffy, shallow and disinterested. Grabbing a bottle when Hermione was distracted, he took a long swig of the firewhiskey. He needed a good distraction from his nightmares. Maybe if he was drunk it would help.

"Lavender, truth or dare?"

The Gryffindor shifted in her seat, "Truth."

Hermione sat there for a moment in silence before smirking, "What's the furthest you've gone with a guy?"

A pink blush spread across her cheeks, but she didn't hesitate to answer, "Oral."

Harry nearly spat out his drink. This was not going to be all innocent and sweet. What would he be forced to do?

They went around the circle, people got dared to kiss, to flash bosoms and steal firewhiskey from the teacher's stash. They also got made to tell their deepest, darkest, _dirtiest_ secrets. As long as he didn't get picked Harry was fine with that.

"Harry." Padma turned to him, pushing her hair back from her face where it had fallen when she had had to kiss Terry Boot. Harry mentally swore for jinxing himself. "Truth or dare."

Harry froze. He couldn't call truth, while he didn't think Padma knew about his nightmares, the things he knew about Voldemort, the weird and mysterious events that had been happening to him since his first year they wouldn't understand, he doubted he even would be able to talk about them, at all. No, he couldn't call truth, "Dare. I choose dare."

"Okay," She smiled and twisted her hair around her finger, thinking. Hannah Abbott leaned in and whispered in her ear, and Padma's mouth popped into an 'o'. The girls snickered. The group leaned in, ready to hear Harry's dare. Padma cleared her throat dramatically, "Harry Potter I dare you to kiss Draco Malfoy."

His cheeks went red. Looking across the circle he saw Draco's do the same. He couldn't kiss him, they'd only reconciled a few days ago. And...

"No. I can't kiss Malfoy." He said, incredulous.

"Kiss Potter? No way, I'd rather snog Dumbledore's corpse."

"That's not happening Padma." Harry put his foot down. He couldn't believe she would dare. Padma scowled.

"I had to kiss Hermione before," Susan Bones broke in, waving at the other girl. Hermine inclined her head and looked at Harry, "That's true Harry. She has a point. You can't just back out now."

"Hermione! You actually want me to kiss him?" He shot at her.

Hermione shrugged, "You agreed to play truth or dare. And you could've chosen truth."

"You know I couldn't do that." He glared at her.

Hermione refused to meet his eyes. He turned away from her, irritated that she would say such a thing. He shuffled forward in the circle and leaned in. Draco kept completely still where he was sitting. Everyone watched, the circle was silent in apprehension. Harry sighed, "Come on Malfoy, you scared or something?"

"You wish Potter. You're the one that's scared."

"I don't see you moving any closer."

"I swear I'll hex the living daylights out of you, you git."

"Not if I get you first."

Draco pushed off the wall and leant forward. Their lips brushed for a split second and they pulled apart. Looking around the circle, Harry could see people looking annoyed.

"That wasn't a kiss." Hannah cried. Padma nodded, "Nothing close to one."

"You didn't specify what a kiss was Padma," He retorted, "Or how long you wanted us kissing."

He felt triumphant. Glad the moment had passed he took another swig of firewhiskey and said without missing a beat, "Terry, truth or dare."

The Ravenclaw shifted in his seat, uncomfortable after what had just happened, "Truth."

"How far have you gone with Padma?" Harry asked, smiling slightly, knowing their secret. Padma turned a deep red and glowered in Harry's direction. Terry's face also lit up and looking apologetically in Padma's direction he whispered, "Anal."

The night only gained momentum from there. After flashing her bosoms at everyone Lavender turned to Draco, a dangerous glint in her eye. Draco chose to be dared. Harry suspected it had something to do with his connections in the Dark Wizarding World and the information he didn't want to be shared. The truth would be dangerous for either of them. Padma whispered something in Lavender's ear, shooting glares at Harry. Harry's stomach sunk. He didn't like what was coming.

Lavender smirked, "I dare you to –"

"Stop, stop, stop." Hermione lifted her hands and shushed Lavender, knowing how dangerous the night could become for her friend, "I think we need to change things up. Get a little –" she lifted a bottle and shook it "–drunk. After all, that's what we came for."

"But my dare!" Lavender retorted. Hermione glared and Lavender returned the gesture. For a moment the two Gryffindors stared each other down, daring each other to look away. Bristling dangerously, Hermione's glares started to heat up the room, boring holes in Lavender's eyes. As if staring into the sun, Lavender lowered her eyes in submission, retreating to the safety of her friends.

"Thank me later," Hermione whispered to Harry, before getting out the booze and willing shot glasses to appear. Harry sat in awe of his friend. She had just protected him against another demeaning dare. Then his heart sunk and he deflated a little, how much of a coward was he to hide behind the protection of his friends? How many people were sacrificed for his survival? He lifted his drink and took a long swig.

Hermione poured shots and placed them out evenly on a round coffee table, that had just sorta appeared out of nowhere, leaving the bottles of firewhisky in the middle. She grinned, "We're gonna play a little game of 'Never have I ever'. Easy game, easy concept. If you've done it, you drink it. No rules, no restrictions. I'll go first. Never have I ever seen a thestral before last year."

Harry grabbed his shot and drunk. Neville did the same. Everyone else stayed oddly still.

One by one they went around the circle, some lighthearted, some dirty, some downright demeaning. It was a testimony for how many things Harry had done, as he was steadily becoming one of the more drunk people there. His shots went down faster than anyone else's and he was distantly glad that he could handle alcohol well.

"Never have I ever talked to He-who-must-not-be-named," Lavender said, eyes flicking to two boys in particular. She grinned as Neville and Harry went for their shots but gasped when Draco went for his. The circle fell silent and Draco scowled, also quite drunk, "Don't act as if you never suspected, you bunch of insolent pricks."

He downed his shot.

Padma cleared her throat. Harry stifled a groan. It was always troubling when Padma had her turn, after exposing her and Terry's relationship she had it out for him, and if there was one thing Harry didn't want, it was more trouble.

"Never have I ever killed or tortured another human being." She smirked, eyes only for pale-haired Slytherin boy.

Everyone was staring at Draco. Harry could see how uncomfortable he was and wondered if he should reach for his shot. He had killed a few Death Eaters, wounded many and had tortured one of the Carrows before the Battle of Hogwarts begun, he should take it, it was the truth after all. His hand twitched. Hating life he reached for his shot and in one fluid motion downed it and smacked it back down on the table. Everyone gasped, each face showing multitudes of shock and horror. Hermione didn't move, her face one of grim determination.

The distraction he obviously needed, Draco took his shot, placing his glass down a lot more quietly. The two boys watched each other with tired eyes.

• • •

Draco watched Harry take the shot and wondered which part of the statement Harry found truth in. Surely he hadn't tortured anyone, but killing someone was a whole lot worse. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bugger everyone. He reached forward and took his shot.

The room was tense, and nobody could really relax. They had all suspected Draco, the boy knew as much, but Harry? After that, all the statements targeted either of the two boys and their's became surprisingly mundane. The night wore on, and the bottles emptied and the seventh-years began to stumble more and more on their words, casually breaking out into hysterical laughter. Harry slurred and continued taking shots, and Draco watched him get more and more drunk, as he himself downed many more. Draco filled with warmth from the firewhisky and he felt like he could take on anyone. Anyone but the entire seventh-year population who seemed to have it out for him.

"Never have I ever," Zacharias shot glances at Draco, "gotten a tattoo."

Without hesitating a few of the girls in the group took their shots giggling. Draco felt, through the alcohol-induced haze, he felt his stomach flip and blood drain from his face. His Dark Mark had stopped bothering him, but it was still there and it was still dark as ever. He didn't want to confirm it in front of everyone. It was more permanent then the scars on his body. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Curse these fuckwits. Curse everybody. Curse fucking Voldemort. Curse himself. He opened his eyes, and with his left arm – the one that bore the mark – leant forward to reach for his shot, took it, downed it and put it back. Everyone stared at him. He sought Harry's eyes, but the boy didn't meet them, eyes closed and grip loose on his bottle – everyone but Harry stared at him.

"Get fucking on with it, will you. Move on, next statement. Don't fucking stare at me like that, I'm not showing anyone."

And so they moved on, more uncomfortable, more unsteady, drunker than a lot of them could handle. It was soon after that, around eleven o'clock, when people started dropping off, declaring loudly that they would not be able to do anything tomorrow if they didn't go to bed that instant. And when they dropped off they dropped like flies until there were only the hardcore heavyweights and the hosts left, Draco among them. He would honestly rather be alone, but the firewhisky was having strange effects on his body, and he yearned for other people's company.

There were only five people left, Seamus, Neville, Hermione, Harry, and him. Draco felt like he was gate-crashing a Gryffindor party, but also didn't really care. He also felt like he should stop drinking, but didn't really care. He took another shot, feeling it burn down his throat. He shook his head, feeling it and trying to clear it.

It was Harry's turn. Draco surveyed him, everyone watched him waiting for his 'Never have I...'. The black-haired boy grinned lazily, "Never have I ever been bottom."

"Are you implying you've topped?" Seamus inquired, looking greedily at the boy. Draco felt angry for a second, then wondered what the hell he was angry about. The four pair of eyes turned back to Harry, awaiting his answer. He grinned again and took a swig from a bottle that just never seemed to empty.

"Oh yeah, Seamus, lots of times. Holidays come around and I have the house to myself, all you gotta do is go down to the strip club and get a small room there." He shrugged, "It's nothing big." 

Draco wasn't sure whether he was telling the truth or not. But something about that cat-like smile really pulled him in, mocking him. Seamus took a shot, as did Neville, who turned a delicate shade of pink as he did. Draco didn't have the energy to comment on _that_. He looked to the person left of Harry, the Granger girl.

"Never have I ever masturbated to gay porn." She said without a hitch, smirking slightly. Draco's eyes nearly popped out of his head, who knew she was this scandalous when she was drunk. He didn't take the shot, but something niggled at the back of his mind. He sought Harry's eyes and wasn't surprised when Harry didn't move. Seamus however, unabashed took the shot, stood up and whooped.

"Well that's me buggered." he slurred, leaning to the side, "I'm off to bed, and to have some fun." 

Seamus winked and made a motion with his hands. Hermione didn't so much as turn a shade, though Harry's face reddened slightly. Draco watched as Neville also stood, much less drunk, and supported his friend. Draco realised that he would have to get down to his dormitories as well, a cavity opening in his chest when he realised he would have no friends to support him.

"Malfoy. Your turn." Harry spoke. It was only the three of them left. In some distant corner of his mind, Draco wished Hermione would leave.

"Never have I ever used the Cruciatus curse." The words had left his mouth and he couldn't take them back. What had made him say it? Maybe. Yes, that was it. He wanted to know if Harry really had tortured or killed, which part of the statement he truly agreed with. But surely no.

Across the – would it really be called a circle? – Harry went oddly still. He froze again, tense. He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, opened them and reached for his shot. Draco felt his stomach plummet. He had wanted to see but to actually...no, it couldn't be the truth.

Across the circle a flustered Hermione stood. Without saying a word she grabbed the rest of the booze, and her jacket which she'd discarded earlier. The boys watched her leave. Harry swore, "Shit. Hermione! I can." The door slammed shut and he sighed, "I can explain. Goddamnit."

He turned to Draco, "You fucking had to. Good grief. Merlin's balls. Hopefully she won't remember anything in the morning."

"She doesn't know?" Didn't Harry tell his friends everything? Draco's brow furrowed. He didn't know where this was going or where this had exploded from, but it was his fault for bringing it up in the first place.

"Malfoy, no one knows!" Harry cried.

Draco tipped his head back and leant against the wall. He hadn't wanted this moment for himself, but in the way of protecting himself had harmed others. He felt bad for feeling bad, hadn't his father called him spineless, unable to do a thing to pull himself up even if it meant pushing others down? He was selfish, and a coward. Coward, coward, coward. His Dark Mark wasn't even worth anything, just punishment for his father's mistakes. His thoughts spiralled, and he opened his mouth and eyes in a bid to push himself out of his mind.

"Who was it?" He tipped his head forward and met eyes with Harry. Something seemed so sinister about those green eyes, but Draco felt perfectly safe. For a moment Harry didn't respond, his fingers fiddling with his robes, suddenly a whole less angry and worked up.

"Amycus Carrow. It was right before the Battle of Hogwarts and I just... well, I snapped." He shrugged trying to pass it off as not a big deal, "Anyway, a secret for a secret Malfoy. I've ruined my reputation, now you ruin yours."

"I don't know Potter." He leant forward and waved a finger in his face, "How do I know you're not going to manipulate me in this drunken state to tell you all my secrets."

Harry leant forwards as well and smirked, "I don't know Malfoy. Maybe you just have to trust me."

"Trust you? I don't know about that."

Draco stared into his eyes. The green, completely Slytherin green, eyes glittered, tantalizing, pulling him closer. He leaned in closer, his abdomen resting on the side of the coffee table. Harry also leaned forward, not breaking eye contact, until his abdomen was resting on the other side of the coffee table. Their lips were inches apart and the room felt uncomfortably small. 

Harry dropped his gaze to Draco's lips and Draco felt his face redden.

"Maybe I'll have to give you another secret to keep then." Harry's voice was suddenly husky, and Draco could feel his hot breath on his neck. He shuddered slightly, not really knowing how to act or react, but not really caring either.

Harry's lips met his, and sparks flew in Draco's vision. He closed his eyes and fell in love with the warmth, the feeling, the pleasure that was spreading around his body. Harry's lips were smooth and fine against Draco's and Draco melted into them. Their mouths moved in harmony. It felt right, it felt bloody good. Draco broke the kiss and stared at Harry.

"You can't tell anyone about this Potter." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOO  
> Spicy, saucy stuff Harry Potter – what else do you do to prevent wasting away in your deep dark depression? Also Malfoy's just cute.   
> Hehe, what are your favourite part of this chapter? Drop a comment! 
> 
> (Mine was: "I'd rather snog Dumbledore's corpse.") lol.
> 
> Lots of love,   
> Lou


	5. Bound to be, bound to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not fate, it's the author's authority.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm. Prepare yourselves.

Harry awoke in a cold sweat. The dorm was quiet in a way that wasn't quiet but was still too quiet for someone whose heart was beating a mile a minute. His head throbbed and for a second he thought his scar was the cause, but then his memory kickstarted and his face grew hot. Why the hell had he kissed Malfoy? He knew his drunken self was a flirt at the best of times, but that wasn't for his friends to know. His secrets had grown in multitudes since the Battle of Hogwarts and he didn't want his lovely drinking habit to become anything but what it was – a secret. 

He ran his fingers through his hair and threw the covers from him, not minding the biting cold. A momentary flash of green filled his vision and the events of last night were the last things on his mind. He grabbed his wand from under the pillow and let his feet fall on the cold floor. Not thinking he left the dormitory, and the common room and the Gryffindor tower. 

Every so often he would turn a hall and hear a crash, hear a muffled shout of a curse. His foot caught on something and distantly he wondered if it was a piece of rubble or a turned-up carpet. He turned his head the sound of a scream and stumbled towards it. In his peripheral, he saw fire burst into life, consuming a young wizard, melting, burning, devouring. Harry's vision blurred. He saw a ceiling come crashing down, a flash of red light and a body fall. He ran up the stairs to catch them but they fell through his fingers, head hitting the stone. He forgot how to walk, stumbling through corridor after corridor, hall after hall, up and downstairs, chasing people who were already gone, people who he could simply not save. 

Harry left a trail of tears in his wake. The dust which had been stirred by the day's students was coming to settle and faint though it was, he left tear tracks as he walked, almost as if he wanted someone to come and find him.

• • •

Try as he might, Draco could not sleep. His lips were still burning pleasantly in memory of Harry and though the party had ended many hours before, he couldn't get it out of his mind. Who knew he was an adventurous drunk? He hadn't experimented much with alcohol in the past. 

He rolled over in his bed. The kiss had felt like a thousand fireworks bursting across his lips and mouth, and just the feeling of the boy being close to him, Draco shivered at the thought. He opened his eyes in the dark and for a moment wondered if he should try and fall back asleep, but the scene kept playing on a loop in his mind, a wonderful loop. 

Deciding to do something instead of lying in bed like a happy lovestruck git – which, he insisted to no one in particular, he was not, Draco sat up and fetched his thickest gown from his drawers. Putting it on, he left the dormitory, bypassed the common room and climbed the stairs from the dungeons, needing to go to the kitchens and scab some food from the house-elves, preferably without them knowing. One hand on his abdomen, feeling the scar that was still very much painful, he struggled to find breath in his sides, and keep pace with his strides. He wasn't going to get better for a long time yet. Draco stopped at the top of the stairs to take a breather and his limp, which he'd been walking on fine, became pronounced even more so. He limped along the first floor, struggling to remember the way to the kitchens, struggling to walk and to breath and just struggling in general. 

In all of the castle, at the witching hour of two am, those boys were the only ones awake, and as big as Hogwarts was and still is, they were bound to find each other eventually. 

• • • 

The concrete was cold on Harry's feet, but he didn't care. What stung more was the wind on his cheeks, drying the tracks of the tears as they dropped from his chin splashing down onto his shoulders. He saw death and he saw it everywhere. He could smell blood on the air, and his haze he wondered whose, though, in reality, it was his, his tongue bleeding from the biting down of his screams. The night air was crisp, and everything held shadows to its name, the sins clinging to their shoulders, the hallways tipping and turning, twisting and leaning. Harry stumbled down, getting sucked into the depths of his mind.

It was too quiet. His feet trailed down the stairs and he saw someone fall, from a distance he yelled, but it was too late, Ron was dead. Fred was dead. Remus was dead. Sirius was dead. His mum was dead. His dad was dead. Everyone was dead and it was all because of him. His fault. His fault. His fault. The thought pounded against the walls in his mind, unable to break free, unable to do anything. There was no one left to tell. No one left to protect, to die for, to live for. He wondered if he should join them. He wanted to see them. He wanted to be free. He wanted for nothing more than that, a conscience that was clean, a slate wiped clean, a leaf that was turned afresh. 

His feet had taken him to back where it had begun. Where he had been sorted, where he had received his broomstick, where he had been chosen for the Triwizard cup, where his scar had first hurt, where he had killed Voldemort, where he had seen all their bodies, laid out on display for all to see, for all to mourn. A sob tore from his body and broke the stillness. Harry sunk to the floor, in defeat and cried. There was no one left. Reality came crashing down.

He cried and he cried. His chest squeezed with grief. He was suddenly taken back to the few weeks he spent at the end of the summer at Grimmauld Place, turning to anything to ease the pain – alcohol especially. Memory upon memory, a laughing face, a happy soul, Harry wished he could tear his mind from his head, to stop this pain, to stop all of it. The wind picked up outside and the cold bit his bare feet and nose. He sobbed into the crook of his arms, much like George sobbed into the crook of his dead brother – the war had left unwilling survivors. His heart ached.

• • • 

Draco heard him before he saw him. He heard the sobs coming from behind the ornate doors and wondered who could possibly be behind them. With the cold wind ruffling his hair, stinging his face, and hunger pinching his stomach, the thought of having to console some random fourth year there and then was not on his agenda. Yet something tugged in his brain, something kept his feet rooted to the spot where he stood before the doors.

He shifted his weight, cringing as a bolt of pain shot through his body. Who could it be? Who would dare be out after curfew – it wouldn't be one of the younger years, no. And in the Great Hall? He shivered. 

Draco reached out for the handles and pulled the doors open – ignoring the dead weight in his stomach. There, illuminated in the light of the moon, sitting on the steps of the teachers table, sat Harry, face streaked with tears. His eyes were frenzied and his hands pulled at his hair, but as Draco entered the room, Harry stilled and stared. 

"Malfoy?" It barely escaped him, but thundered in the quiet. 

The name, though his, bit him. His family's name clutching at him like a shadow, a reputation he was never quite free of. Draco furrowed his brows, 'Potter.. are you..?" 

Harry rubbed at his eyes in an effort to stop from crying, but all it did was wet his hands with salty tears. A tight pain pulled at Draco's chest, as he remembered all the breakdowns he had had at the Manor, and all the breakdowns he barely kept himself from having now. 

"What do you want Malfoy." Harry tried to spit out the words, but his lips trembled too much and it came out too softly to be taken of ill-intent. Draco didn't have to effort to bite back, besides they were alone, there was no need to act in the way of their house-rivalry.

He sighed, and realising the pains in his leg would only intensify the longer he stood he sat on a bench at the Hufflepuff table. Harry eyed him quietly but didn't meet Draco's gaze. 

"I was going to the kitchens, but heard someone, so I came to who it was and found you." Draco said matter-of-factly, carefully avoiding the topic of crying or breakdown. 

"Right." Harry replied, voice cracking.

Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't want to aggravate Potter, but that as the only thing he knew how to do comfortably with the boy, and neither of them wanted to fight. There was nothing he could do to comfort him either – he didn't have the right to fix the hurt of others having cause so much of it himself. 

He stood and stared down at Harry, who had crossed his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to warm himself. Draco realised then how cold Harry looked, shivers racking his body. As Harry hung his head in his hands, a quite sob escaped him, "Malfoy, I need to be a–" 

"Come to the kitchens with me." Draco commanded his voice to have a scrap of his former authority, "We'll solve at least one of your problems."

Harry, for the first time that night, held Draco's gaze, "How the hell would you know what problems I have Malfoy. Leave me the goddamn fuck alone."

His temper bristled, "Look you fool. If you stay out here any longer in this drafty hall wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, you are going to freeze and have a lot more problems than what you currently have. So either sulk here and freeze, or sulk in the kitchens and have a warm bowl of soup. Use your head Potter."

Harry looked ready to hex Draco's head off, but just as fast as his anger came it dissipated and he stood, swaying like a tree in a storm, "Fine. I'll come." 

Face flushed from the sudden anger, Draco suddenly realised that this was the most skin of Harry's he had seen, ever. He was thankful for the darkness, and turned to fully hide his smarting face. 

They walked together in silence, until they reached the kitchens. Draco could not help but sneak glances at the other boy. It was dark and cold, and Draco's limp was more pronounced than it had been in the last three months. And yet, Harry hadn't even mentioned it. That was odd, come to think of it, and Draco stole another glance at the Gryffindor. Gone was the sure-fired, loud speaking , loud footed boy, he was now uncertain with every step and had sunk into a silent rut. Draco didn't know what to think of it, other than he could not possibly fathom what he had gone through, being the face of the war itself. 

He thought of saying something, but every time he opened his mouth to speak his voice failed him.It was only when they had reached the hallway did he clear his throat and alert the other boy, "We're here."

Harry stopped beside him, blinking hard. In his eyes still lingered his dreams, but he'd regained some colour. 

"Well then, after you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...  
> Now we see some more of that trauma showing itself. Poor Malfoy and his breathing difficulties , poor Harry and his survivors guilt. I love writing angst in this sort of setting and there's so much CANON opportunity for it as well. Loving this guys. 
> 
> Just letting y'all know that I probably won't be able to post on this fic for a while – as I have a few exams and tests coming up that I need to study for, though I reckon in a few weeks, I'll be free to post again. (that being said, I'm working on some other fics that take priority)
> 
> Anyways, leave a comment on what you'd like to see in the future, or what you liked about the past – Are there any other ships you want to see out of the limited people left?
> 
> Lots of love,   
> Lou


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